


Making Up Things I Would Never Say

by imbellarosa



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Elitot's POV, F/M, M/M, for a change, queliot, this is the coronation scene, which i kinda love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 12:00:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18365588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imbellarosa/pseuds/imbellarosa
Summary: "For what it’s worth, I think that you are going to be a really good king.”Everything, Eliot thinks, it’s worth everything. And Q is smiling and he is smiling and if this moment was a color it would be lavender; that had always been his mother’s favorite color.





	Making Up Things I Would Never Say

**Author's Note:**

> This is because I saw a phenomenal meta on this moment on @coronation-eyes 's tumblr and I loved it and had to write something on it. I hope I did the moment justice, because really it is one of the most underrated, most beautifully shot moments of the show. 
> 
> The title is Siken, again, because I have a theory that I could point to any Siken poem and apply it to the Magicians and my evil plan is to get everyone to read his anthologies (one of which is ACTUALLY CALLED "Foxes" AND IF THAT"S NOT PERFECT I DON'T KNOW WHAT IS)!!!

> “ _We have not touched the stars,_  
>  _nor are we forgiven, which brings us back_  
>  _to the hero’s shoulders and the gentleness that comes,_  
>  _not from the absence of violence, but despite_  
>  _the abundance of it.”_  
>  _― Richard Siken, _ _[Crush](https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/92779)_ " 

“So,” Eliot sighs, and he still sounds tired, but less so than yesterday, and thank God for small miracles. The nights are still late, and he still wakes up with shivers and sweats, but he can’t remember the color of Mike’s eyes anymore. When he dreams, he sees dark eyes now, but he knows that isn’t right. “I guess we just put them on.” 

“God, no,  _ stop, _ ” Quentin has an urgency in his voice that makes everyone listen to him. He would have been a great High King, Eliot thinks. “I mean, I just - we should do a -a ceremony. This is only going to happen once. We are becoming kings and queens and...it’s important, and we should honor it.”

He takes a step towards Eliot, “Just give me that.” 

Eliot doesn’t think twice before handing him the crown. Which, in retrospect, is odd, because Eliot had never given anyone anything important. He had never trusted anyone enough, except Margo, who wouldn’t have thought to make a ceremony out of this, anyways. They had more important things to do. But Quentin was - a dreamer - maybe, was the best word for it. Or a believer of magic, or his best friend, or all three at the same time. 

“Kneel, Eliot Waugh,” he says in a firm voice, one Eliot has never heard him use before, and he can’t help it, he smiles, and he has never felt this smile on his face before. 

“Would you just  _ do it _ ,” Quentin insists, and there is a smile on his face, too. “It’s going to be quick, I promise.”

And how could he not smirk? Eliot didn’t know it their friendship was going to survive the fiasco that the last few weeks had been, or the mess of his addiction, or the breakup with Alice, but  _ God  _ he had so wanted it to. And there was this - thing - inside his chest and it was going  _ badd-um badd-um badd-um _ , and he never really had a choice in the matter, did he? He kneels. 

“So destiny is - it’s bullshit,” Quentin starts, and he sounds good. Strong. Confident. Ready.Eliot knows, even now, that there are so many hard times ahead of them. He knows that heavy is the head that wears the crown, and there will be four heads, and four hearts, and all of them will break a bit in the coming years, but right now, Q is looking at him like he is something remarkable. “But you are High King in your blood, and somehow that makes sense, you know? And i - i just - for what it’s worth, I think that you are going to be a  _ really good king _ .”

_ Everything,  _ Eliot thinks,  _ it’s worth everything _ . And Q is smiling and he is smiling and if this moment was a color it would be lavender; that had always been his mother’s favorite color.  

“So, um, I dub thee - uh - um. I don’t know. Would you say you’re more brave or merciful?” 

“I would say I’m neither,” Eliot says, more honest than he’s been about anything for a very long time, “but I still plan to be a spectacular monarch.”

“I hereby dub thee, High King Eliot the Spectacular,” Q places the crown gently on his temple, and his fingers just barely grazes his hair, and Eliot knows what Fillory means to Quentin, and Q didn’t even hesitate to let go of the crown and he will never know what that faith means to Eliot. 

Penny just shakes his head and rolls his eyes, like he knows something they don’t.  _ Badd-um badd-um badd-um _ , again in his chest and  _ oh _ .  _ Oh, of course _ . And maybe Q was right. Destiny was bullshit and they would never know what was coming next and this was his heart reaching out for a little kindness from someone who had  _ so much life  _ inside of them. He thinks his wards must have slipped a bit, because Penny glances back and forth between them.

“Wow, uh,” he sighs, and takes Q’s hands and lets himself stay there for a beat. Two. “This feels as natural as underwear” - he never wears any, and he can feel a weight settling over his shoulders, his heart - “thank you.”

Then Margo, the Destroyer, because she will destroy any danger that stands in front of her family and she will go to the ends of the Earth to protect the things that matter the most to her.  _ The exceptions _ . Long may she reign. 

And then Alice. Who he loves because she is wise, and because she is capable of a deep kindness, and because he might really love her, too. And so the weight gets heavier. He won’t hurt her again. He will be the King that Quentin thinks he can be, and he will be the man that his father never thought he could.

There was only Quentin left. And what could he really say with the treacherous thing beating in his chest. And then Margo steps in. 

“Let me,” she says, and she smiles more kindly than he could ever remember, and maybe this is what it means to grow up. Maybe it means loving enough to want those you love to be the best versions of themselves. Maybe it means learning to be as strong as you’ve ever been, and then stronger. Maybe it’s in the breaking, or in the building up again, and really he thinks that the opium is starting to get to him.

The Fillorian sea is grey and the clouds seem to be both gathering and parting at the same time, and Eliot knows that if he could hold this moment for five, ten, fifty years, he would, and he would imagine that he could be loved, too, and that there was some way that he didn’t come out broken and that he didn’t hurt anyone, and he thinks that maybe in some other lifetime, where he didn’t discover magic, or alcohol, or pills, or where someone else went to meet Q before his entrance exams, then  _ maybe it wouldn’t be like this _ . 

“You’re  _ honest _ about what you love,” Margo tells Q, and he wonders if he have the same bravery, and then she was calling him socially maladjusted, and then they were all kings and queens, except for Penny who  _ totally knew what was up _ , except he didn’t know why because he checked his wards and they were fine. 

And there’s a - a  _ moment _ \- one where he sees them all, old and wrinkled and still in Fillory. He imagines children laughing, and he thinks they should have deep brown eyes, like the ones in his dreams, and he wants to laugh, and to cry, and to turn around and run, because this is bigger than anything he’s ever felt, or seen, or been a part of. It is bigger than all of them, and for five whole seconds, he closes his eyes and lets himself feel all of it. And then he imagines a bottle, like the ones that held all of their emotions, and he imagines putting this lavender thing inside of it, and gently placing it in a box. 

He looks out once more over the cliffs, then grabs Margo’s hand, and faces everyone. 

“Well,” he breathes, “we should probably get to the armory.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you thought of this little throwback! And come say hi at imbellarosa.tumblr.com!


End file.
